Blades
by Maphiko
Summary: Tseng, his past, and the fall of Wutai. Loosely linked with my other Wutai fic, "In the Shadow of the Water God." Some violence, but nothing graphic. Also has some disturbing themes.


Blades  
By Ashley Leung 10S  
  
_Author's Note: This fanfiction uses Japanese for some Wutainese words.  They are translated at the end, in case you do not know them.   
  
_            A man strode silently down the oddly quiet streets of Midgar.  The slums were rarely quiet, it was distinctly strange.  At any given time, one expected to hear the sounds of busy people, some scavenging the trash, others crying out in exhaustion or hunger.  Children's cries were ignored, for they were far too common these days.    
            As steadfastly ignored were the gunshots, constant reminders of the eternal fighting.    
            The man glanced behind him, frowning in concern. A glint of pride touched his slanted dark eyes when he saw his son valiantly imitating the flowing grace of his own strides.  Although he was only eleven, Tseng Aoki did not whine or fuss, even though by now he must have been weary.  And his small feet made no more noise then his fathers'.    
            The two were so alike that there was no doubt that they were closely related; the young boy bore the stamp of his father on every feature.  Presently, they were even dressed identically, in dark blue and light grey robes, long brown-black hair drawn back in a warrior's ponytail.  The swords each bore at his waist were also the same, and despite his youth, the sons' were as battle worn as the fathers'.    
            A scuffle of feet.  The father stopped stock still, resting a slender long fingered hand on his sons' shoulder.  He resisted the urge to shove the child behind him.  Tseng was a warrior.  Best for him to think and see for himself.    
            A gunshot.  The boy whirled in horror, even as his father was flung back.  Black eyes widened as his father fell and did not rise.  A rapidly spreading crimson stain bloomed through his light robes.    
            With a wordless shout of anger and fear,Tseng whipped out his _katana_, and _ran_ towards the attackers.  So many; some were obviously street scum from Midgar, but the _kenkaku _in the back were garbed in the turquoise blue, maroon and black robes of a rival faction from home. One carried a smoking gun.   

His sandaled feet were loud, beating a rapid tattoo against the dusty path.  The boy slashed and parried wildly, small body surging with irresistible force.  But there were too many; they were too strong, giant figures loomed all around him.  Grieving fury raced through Tseng, and he recklessly pressed forward toward his fathers' muderer. His blade was a red blur until the moment a fist connected solidly with his temple, stunning him.  He collapsed, bloody sword still clenched in one small hand.  
            The men looked at him.  Something rose within the leader; it was one thing to slay a fully grown man, but a child. . .With a twisted grin, he addressed his men.  "He fights well.  We take him back home."  
            The men nodded, and one bent to sling the boy across a broad shoulder.  The kid fought like a demon. He would have to be restrained.  When he was older. . .  
            The samurais' musings were broken by the sound of deafening sirens and the bright lights that suddenly blinded him.    
            "_Shimatta! _Quick, run!  It's Shinra!"  
            But they were surrounded.  
  
            If anyone bothered to look out, it wouldn't matter.  No one would be able to see him.  
            But then again, why would anyone bother?  Ido had won a mighty victory.  Yesterday night, _hitokiri_ from Wutai had crept into Shinras' camp, and butchered every single SOLDIER above Second Class level.  Then, while the troops had milled in utter confusion, the samurai of Ido had surrounded the encampment, and annihilated every man.    
            A mighty victory indeed.  
            Tseng strode quietly through the mountain village of Ido.  The place that he distantly remembered as his home.  But that didn't matter anymore; he owed his loyalty to a different place now.    
            _Silent as a shadow._  He remembered _all_ of the lessons his _tousan_ had taught him as a youth, and moved with an easy lithe grace.  Only another patch of darkness in the shadowed streets, the only illumination the faint light of the crescent moon.  The voluminous robes he wore hampered him not a bit, despite the fact he had not worn their like in over five years.  Neither had he worn his long hair in a ponytail for a long time.  But the razor sharp _daisho_ hanging on his left hip were as familiar as the blue suit he usually donned everyday.    
            _Imitation is the sincerest flattery._  True, a quarter of President Shinras' troops had been decimated yesterday.  But not for nothing did he head the most powerful company of the world.  The President would have vengeance.  And Tseng, as his _loyal_ Turk had been selected to do it.  
            Privately the young man had wondered if this was not also a test on his true loyalties.  The President had been relying on him more and more lately.  Or perhaps it was just a way of thumbing his nose at the Islanders, sending a prodigal son home to drive in Shinras' revenge.  Whatever it was, Tseng no longer cared.  His mind was focused only on his task.  
            Slay the leader of the samurai, apparently the greatest _kenkaku_ of both villages.  Without a leader the samurai would be directionless.  Or, they would squabble among each other for the honour, heedless of the fact that they were engaged in a war.  Slay the leader, and give the Islander's some 'flattery.'  
            Gently he slid the paper panelled door of the largest pagoda in the village to the side.  The _bakanakoto _had not even made sure of any type of security, so confident were they of their magnificent victory.  Pah.    
            He cautiously edged his way down the corridor.  His sandals made no noise at all on the slick wooden floor.  Directly in front of him, he could hear the trickle of water, probably from an indoor garden, which would of course include a pond.  Perfect.  He knew _exactly_ where to go.  After all, he had grown up here, in this very house, when _his_ father had been the greatest warrior of the Island.  Sliding open yet another door, he slipped through, at the same time easing the shorter _wakizashi _out of it's scabbard.  
            The room was utterly dark and silent.  He strained to hear some noise, of the man's breathing, that he might be able to strike quickly.  He closed his eyes to better hear.   
            _A whisper of wind.  _That was all that warned him, and quick as a fox, his blade flashed up, and intercepted the sword that would have torn him in two.  A shower of sparks answered, lighting the room for one moment, and then died.  
            The two circled each other in the dark.  Only the slight crackle of the reed mats under foot gave any hint to where the other was.    
            Abruptly breaking the standoff, Tseng _lunged_ forward, blade whirling, so fast it cleaved a scream from the air.  The honed edge parted cloth and flesh alike, and with a startled grunt, his opponent stumbled back.    
            Although this strange man's technique was superb, so was Tsengs'.  After all the young mans' natural skill and talent had been relentlessly honed, first by his father, then by the dangerous life-or-death battles fought in the slums of Midgar.  
            Kind of like this battle actually.  
            But he had found his rhythm; he was actually enjoying this fight, mouth curved into a hard smile.  Not so different from the sparring matches he had had with his _touson_, only they had fought with bamboo, not this deadly tempered steel.  And it was as easy to simply _know_ his opponent's next move, he knew every movement this _kenkaku _was going to make.  Truth be told, Tseng had been a little. . .wary. . .of this mission, executing the greatest warrior in a village of warriors, but now he felt truly alive, blood surging through his body with a new vigour, eyes wide in the darkness.  It was no dance this, too quick, too deadly to be even compared to a mere dance.  
            And then the other man slipped up.  For one moment, his sword had stabbed too far and too low for him to recover it quickly; Tseng bent completely back, head almost brushing the floor, back arched, even as his sword arced around, and sliced cleanly through.  It had been effortless.  So easy.  
            But it was time to go.  The fight had been swiftly begun, and swiftly ended, and judging by the sound of pounding footsteps coming his way, it was time to make an equally swift exit.    
            He opened the blinds, letting moonlight flood the room.  As he took two steps back, then ran and dived through, he did not look back for a single moment.    
            Time to report back to the President.  The troops would move in after he informed President Shinra that the mission had been a success.  
  
            The village had been razed, after Shinra had destroyed any sort of resistance.  Although the Islanders had fought bravely, without guidance of a single leader, their attacks had been disorganized, and weaknesses had been ruthlessly exposed and taken advantage of.  With superior numbers, and brand new sophisticated weaponry from the Experimental Department of Shinra itself, the SOLDIERS had easily crushed both Wutai and Ido.  Most of the samurai were dead.    
            Tseng's face was impassive.  He ignored the fact that he had grown up here, that he knew some of the terribly familiar faces attached to the bodies lying broken in the dust – _Akane, Kasumi, Sakura, Hiko, Takashi, Okita – _ignored it all, hiding behind his expressionless face.  The perfect Turk.  
            "Tseng!" the President called out heartily.  His jovial tone seemed at distinct odds with the destruction surrounding them.    
            "Sir."  
            "Splendidly done.  Remind me to give you a promoti-"  
            "President Shinra, sir!  We found two more survivors.  They were at the temple with the body of the dead leader sir."  The Escort Guard saluted the President awkwardly while reporting, hampered by the fact he was holding each woman by the neck of their snowy white mourning robes.    
            "Excellent," the President beamed.  "They must have been his family, right Tseng?  I think we shall take them with us."  
            "Sir." He replied sharply.  "What do you mean to-"  
            His words died even as the woman on the right raised her head, dark hair falling back to frame her weary pale face.  Dark almond shaped eyes widened, emphasizing the tears that had stained her cheeks.  He could hardly breathe; all he could see was the mingled sorrow and horror in those ageless eyes.  
            His _kaasans' _eyes.  
            And the girl beside her, a pallid ghostly white, eyes empty pools, staring blankly over the ruins. . .his _imouto-chan_. . .the last time he had seen her she had hardly been more then a baby. . .crying when he teased her overmuch. . ._Mizuko-chan. . ._  
            His mind reeled.  His _kaasan and imouto. . ._in the temple. . .that man. . .his technique had been superb. . .familiar. . .Tseng had known his every move.  

Tseng had been _taught_ all of his moves.  
            He had slain his _tousan._  
            In the split second he realized, he knew that even as he recognized her, she too knew him; it was in those once adored eyes.  Despite the years, despite how much he had changed, despite the blue suit of a Turk, she still knew him.  
            With a primal scream of – rage? Despair? Sorrow? – His _kaasan_ wrenched out of the grip of the young Escort Guard, and flung herself at him, a dagger in her fist.  She was quick and agile; she had been a warrior in her youth.  
            Tseng's reflexes were even quicker.  His arm came up in a swift arc; steel shining in the bright sun-  
            The gunshot rang in silence.  
  
            Flames consumed what was left of his home.    
            Far away, on the sacred peak Da-Chao, the Turk stood, watching it burn.    
            The mountains of his home shimmered in the smoke.  Like seeing through a veil of tears.  
            He closed his eyes.    
            He could hear the gunshot ringing out.  
            He could still see the way she had crumpled, an all too recognizable bloodstain slowly consuming the pristine whiteness of her mourning robes.    
            He could still feel the recoil of the gun, smoke trembling from its tip.    
            After all these years, his _tousan_ had been alive.  He could have gone home.  It was possible that it could have not ended like this.  It could have been different.  _He_ could have been different.  
            But. . .he wasn't.  He was worse then a murderer; a kinslayer.  
            The Turk permitted Tseng one last moment of weakness.  A tear slid from a closed eye to coldly caress his cheek and burn on his lips.  And then he turned and left the remnants of his childhood blazing behind him.  It was a fitting honouring for his slain parents. . .and for himself.  
  
            High on Da-Chao, before the statue of the Water God, a _katana _and a _wakizashi_ lay in the dust.

Author's Note: Author's Note:  This was also an English essay I did, because it sort of fit the criteria, but mainly because I just couldn't write anything else.  Tseng would not shut up.  It is also loosely linked to my other fanfic about Wutai, "In the Shadow of the Water God." I know it was odd. . .but yeah. . .I wanted to write it.  There's lots of Rude and Reno fiction, but I can't find ANY focusing on Tseng, and most fics that even mention him,  always portray him as being kind and warm, a father figure to the rest of the Turks, blah blah blah.  Not that that probably isn't alright, but I wanted to look at him in another way, before he was The Leader.  And also I just had to add my own "Fall of Wutai" story. It seems to be mentioned enough anyways.  Apologies for any OOC ness, but you don't really see Tseng that much in FF7 anyway, because he DIES!!!! Wah.  Oh, did anyone notice the obvious Samurai X (the Rurouni Kenshin OVA) references?  I made them pretty obvious didn't I?  . . .Gomen.

Japanese Words:  
  
bakanakoto = idiotic things / people  
-chan = endearment, added to the end of a name, used only between family or close friends, someone you know well, or love.  
Daisho = (samurai?) swords  
Hitokiri = Assassin  
Imouto = Younger sister  
Kaasan = Slightly less formal way of saying "mother"  (formal way being "Okaasan").  
Katana = Type of sword  
Kenkaku = Swordsman                 
Shimatta = Dammit                     

Tousan = Same as for 'kaasan' only for "father"

Wakizashi = Type of sword


End file.
